


Book 1 - Max

by missyay



Series: Bargaining With the Universe [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Chloe Price Stayed at Blackwell, F/F, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Save Chloe Price Ending, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missyay/pseuds/missyay
Summary: Max is not done trying to save the day.When she was little, her mother would play a game with her when she was sad. It was called 'What is the best thing that could happen?' and it had only one rule: It had to be possible. It didn't have to be plausible.And what is not possible, with Max's powers? And what is probability if you can rewind until you get it right?
Relationships: Kate Marsh & Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Rachel Amber/Chloe Price, Rachel Amber/Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Series: Bargaining With the Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574962
Comments: 79
Kudos: 236





	1. What's the Best Thing That Could Happen?

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is, the fic that for the longest time had the working title "It's Called Life Is Strange Not Life Is Cruel", and that I have been working on for literal years. Special thanks to [belikebumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee) for beta reading and moral support and patiently listening to any and all random ideas I had about this story. You're a star. <3
> 
> I am not trying to make more sense or be more accurate than the video game, so please be kind to me about any inconsistencies (like whether or not Blackwell is a school or a college, or if time travelling really could work that way). What I am trying to achieve is to be kinder than the video game was, so absolutely do let me know if I forgot to tag or warn for anything. <3

Max tears the butterfly polaroid in half. She wants to rip it into quarters, eigths, sixteenths, but the wind snatches the pieces out of her hands before she does. She watches as they dance upwards and into the heart of the storm. Out of all the things she needs to fix, she knows this is not it.

She turns around just in time to see grief replace the relief on Chloe’s face. Chloe is by her side with one step and hugs her so tight she's sure she could hear her back crack if the storm wasn't howling around them. Max vows to herself to fix this, too.

"I'll always be with you, Max."

 _Yes, you will,_ Max doesn't say. _But not like this._

"Forever," she promises.

Max gets them through the night in a haze of close calls and near-misses. Chloe kisses her properly for the first time when Max pulls her out from under a falling tree after seeing her die for one time too many (surprise melting into pain before her face stills). It almost makes it better. Max clings to Chloe's soaked flannel and cries in fits and bursts until her throat is raw and her eyes feel sore.

Chloe lets her pass it off as the rain, anyway, and holds her tight until Max has to save them again.

She's tired of seeing Chloe die. But if not being there to save her is the other option, she can pull herself together just a little longer.

When the storm finally dies down and the first rays of sunshine tentatively crawl across the ruined mess that used to be Arcadia Bay, they find Chloe's truck – miraculously untouched by the falling trees – and get in.

When they leave, they don't look back.

Chloe doesn't ask about Joyce, and Max doesn't tell her that she saw the Two Whales go up in flames not once, but five times, until she had figured out how to save them. She doesn't tell her that in this timeline, she wasn't there to save them. She remembers hugging Warren before she left, but in this reality, she never saved him or hugged him. He took a beating for her and in exchange, she let him die.

Her phone is low on battery, so Max sets it to flight mode with a guilty twinge. Her parents will probably hear about the storm soon and try to call her.

But Max is not done trying to save the day.

When she was little, her mother would play a game with her when she was sad. It was called 'What is the best thing that could happen?' and it had only one rule: It had to be possible. It didn't have to be plausible. 

And what is not possible, with Max's powers? And what is probability if you can rewind until you get it right?

Max thumbs through the few pictures she took with her phone - she has always preferred analog cameras, but for social media purposes, she still uses her phone.

She stops at a picture of Chloe's first letter, taken to say _I got this, thank you and sorry I wasn't in touch._ She never sent it, but the picture is there, somehow managed to survive several phone changes.

 _We never tried to save Rachel_ , Max realizes. _We never even tried._

She is halfway through focusing on the picture, making the letters jump out at her or making herself jump into the letters, when Chloe touches her arm. Max rubs her eyes and looks over.

Chloe's face is a mix of regret and support, and Max puts her phone away for a second to give her a small smile. Over Chloe's shoulder she can see the debris that used to be a truck of some kind. It is bright red. Max thinks she recognizes it from when she went to the Two Whales before the storm started.

"I'm going to try and save Rachel," she says. "If it doesn't work, we'll end up here again."

"Okay," Chloe says. Chloe, who, blessedly, doesn't know how many times Max has fucked up. Chloe, who trusts her with everything she has, and she has a lot.

Max doesn't cry again, because she is out of tears. Out of tears and out of fear.

Chloe leans over the handbrake and kisses Max's cheek. After everything that happened, it still makes Max's heart race.

As Chloe leans back in the driver's seat expectantly, Max takes a second to take her in: her blue hair is matted from the storm, dried in strands and tendrils, framing her face. It fades to pink at the roots, for reasons that Max never bothered to learn. The bright, flowery tattoos snaking up her arm almost glow in the pale morning light. Her nail polish is chipped, revealing fingernails that are dirty from crawling through the mud all night.

_Four days were not nearly enough to get to know you again. Four days were way too much time to spend in this nightmare of a timeline._

Max knows she'll always love Chloe, in any timeline she creates, but the Chloe she knows best might be gone. Her Chloe, who double-dares Max to kiss her and then chickens out when Max actually does. Maybe she'll never have dyed her hair blue. Maybe she'll never have gotten the tattoos. Maybe she'll never react to any of the awful shit that happens to her by turning it into bright colors and smirks and middle fingers and music turned all the way up. Maybe she won't love Max as deeply. 

Maybe it'll be because less shit happened to her.

Max squeezes Chloe's hand and refocuses on the letter.

_Dear Max,_

_I found this stationary when I was going through Dad's things, and I thought, hey, since texts don't seem to be working for you, maybe this will._

_Things are_

_I'm not gonna lie to you, things are tough. I could use a best friend right now. It's a bit like being punished for losing Dad, which doesn't seem fair._

_Look, obviously I would not be writing this if I wasn't all set to give you another chance, but damn_

_This is a mess. Mum says to tell you hi. She probably likes you better than she likes me, right now. Maybe you two can start texting._

_Hisses (that's hugs and kisses for you, but, really, you deserve the hisses more),_

_Chloe._

Max sits up in her swivel chair. She's in her old room in Seattle, her phone smaller and heavier than she remembers. Her lamp is switched on to provide lighting for the picture. It's almost dark outside, and Max glances at her clock to see if it's dawn or dusk.

It's 8 pm. Not the worst time for a phone call.

She takes a deep breath, and dials Chloe's number.

Chloe picks up almost immediately.

"Max?"

The last time she heard Chloe sound so young, she had to let her Dad die again, and Max has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

"Are you calling because of the letter? I'm really sorry, Max, I sent it in a fit of - something, I don't know; I was mad, but that wasn't cool of me. I'm sorry."

Max takes a deep breath. "No, Chloe, you were right to tell me all this. I've been an ass. I am really sorry. But listen, I am calling about something else..."

"Oh." Chloe's voice falls flat. "I should have guessed that _taht desseug evah dluohs I" .talf sllaf eciov s'eolhC ".hO"_

_"...esle gnihtemos tuoba gnillac ma I ,netsil tuB .yrros yllaer ma I .ssa na neeb ev'I .siht lla em llet ot thgir erew uoy ,eolhC ,oN"_

Max tries again. "No, Chloe, you were right to tell me all this. I've been an ass. I am really sorry. I suppose I ran away from what happened because I could, and I didn't really realize that you couldn't until just now."

Silence on the other end. Max presses on. "That was a shitty move. I should have been there for you. I want to make it right again. You said you wouldn't have sent that letter if you weren't ready to give me another chance. Does the offer still stand?"

The rush of a shaky exhale shudders through the line.

"Max, everything is so shitty. I wish I could just reverse time and make it - not - have - happened..."

"Me, too," Max says heavily. "I dream about it all the time. I could have hidden the keys, made him take the bus that day..."

"I hate school so much. Sometimes I even hate mom. Can you even imagine hating my mom? That's what I'm down to - " Chloe's voice is breaking. A hitched breath.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe, I'm so sorry." Max tries to sound soothing. It comes out weirdly flat.

"It's not your fault, that's the shitty - how can something this horrible happen and not be anyone's fault?"

 _Easy_ , Max doesn't say. _The universe is an awful bitch who wants you dead. But "_ I've got your back, Chloe. I promise I will be a better friend. Do you believe me?"

"Yes," Chloe says without hesitation. There it is again. With everything she has, and she has a lot.

"If I told you I have a secret super power, would you believe me?"

"Yes," Chloe says, sounding slightly more confused.

"If I meant it."

"Max. Stop playing around." There's a hint of annoyance, now.

"I can reverse time, but there are rules”, Max says in a rush. After all this time, she's still not better at easing into it.

"Did you call me just to prank me?" Chloe asks, suddenly furious. "Because if you did… wow, Max. I almost even bought all the shit about how you're sorry."

Max rubs her forehead. "I am. Chloe, believe me. Let me try and prove it to you. Give me a way to prove it. Let me guess something."

"What am I writing down right now?"

"Max is a huge liar?"

Wet laughter. "Close." Chloe almost sounds like she has forgiven Max again. Max doesn't deserve any part of her. 

"You have to tell me once, so I can reverse time and tell you," Max tells her.

A pause. "So in this reality, I don't even get to see your supposed awesome super powers?"

"I suppose," Max says slowly.

"But then what happens with this reality? Is it just... overwritten?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it just kind of... fizzles out."

"Huh." There's a sound. Max takes a while to remember that Chloe used to chew on pencils when she was nervous. "Fine. I wrote "Fuck off, Max," which I'm kind of regretting now. It seems a little over the top."

"No, you get to be over the top," Max says, just in case this reality won't fizzle out or be overwritten.

_.nettirwrevo eb ro tuo elzzif t'now ytilaer siht esac ni tsuj ,syas xaM ,"pot eht revo eb ot teg uoy ,oN"_

_".pot eht revo elttil a smees tI .won gnitterger fo dnik m'I hcihw ,"xaM ,ffo kcuF" etorw I .eniF" .suovren saw ehs nehw slicnep no wehc ot desu eolhC taht rebmemer ot elihw a sekat xaM .dnuos a s'erehT ".huH"_

"Huh," Chloe says.

"Don't chew your pencil," Max tells Chloe. "You wrote _Fuck off, Max._ Which seems kind of rude to you in hindsight."

There's a long pause.

"Don't boss me around," Chloe says. It sounds small, purposely inefficient.

"Sorry," Max says. If only she could fix everything by just saying _sorry_ a lot. She'd be good at that. "Believe me yet? Because I have to tell you, I am not actually getting these powers until I’m eighteen, and I am talking to you from the future, so if you develop any doubts in the meantime, you won't get to reaffirm until October 12th, 2013, because I won't remember."

Silence. Max lets it play out.

Chloe lets out a breath, staticky in Max' ear. "That's a lot to spring on someone who just lost a Dad, Max. You're actually eighteen? What happened to fourteen-year-old you?"

"She'll be back after I finish this phone call."

"I kind of like eighteen year old you better. She can stay."

"She comes back on -"

"October 12th, 2013, yes, I got it."

"Are you writing this down?"

Max can almost hear Chloe shrug. "Can't hurt, right? If I can't ask you anything about it until then."

"No, it absolutely makes sense, I would have told you to do it. But you are a model student." Chloe snorts. Max presses on: "So you believe me? No more demonstrations necessary?"

"No, I'll still take one more demonstration. So I can be sure you haven't just bugged my room or something. Tell me what's in my, uuuuh… _left_ dresser drawer. What does the T-shirt on top look like?"

"Yeah. Tell me?"

A rattling sound, presumably from Chloe opening the drawer. "It is black, and it has a dope-ass raven on it. With a bleeding sun in the background."

_".dnuorgkcab eht ni nus gnideelb a htiW .ti no nevar ssa-epod a sah ti dna ,kcalb si tI" .reward eht gninepo eolhC morf ylbamuserp ,dnuos gnilttar A_

_"?em lleT .haeY"_

"I am going to quote you here. It is black and it has a dope ass raven on it. With a... bleeding sun in the background? Seriously, Chloe. Get some sense of fashion."

"I'll have you know, it looks awesome on me." The rattling sound again. "Jesus, Max."

"Believe me now?"

"I do. Shit, Max, if you can reverse time, can you - can you save -"

"I tried, Chloe," Max promises. "God, did I try. It doesn't work. I told you, there are rules. I can only rewind a few minutes or go back into pictures that were taken in my presence..."

"But there are pictures! There is the one he took right before he went off to get Mum - you could use that - "

The hope in Chloe's voice almost makes Max rewind again to prevent her from getting this idea, but she can't think of a way to make it sound less painful. She closes her eyes, winding a strand of her hair around her index finger until it's pulling at the roots. "I tried that. I promise you, it didn't work. With a vengeance."

"What happened?"

A part of Max just wants Chloe to shut up. She doesn't want to go back. She doesn't want to relive that. For all intents and purposes, it never happened. But Chloe will come back to this. She will want to know.

" _You_ died instead," Max says. She feels a bone-deep tiredness crawl up her chest, like she ran out of grief, too, and this is the next best thing. "Chloe, I can't see you die again, I love you so much - look, I know I can't play God, I can't _make_ this decision, but I have to, and there is no timeline in which I can see you die."

There is a long silence.

"If it means he stays alive..." Chloe trails off. "He'd be more helpful to Mum than I am. Factually..."

"They were absolutely bankrupt. It wasn't anyone's fault," Max hurries to explain, "but I just want to say - they were not doing better than Joyce and you are doing now, financially or emotionally. I can promise you that. And the point is moot, because I am not going back. I am not letting you die."

There's the sound of a hitched breath again, and Max pinches the bridge of her nose. She knows the feeling of losing someone a second time. A third. A twentieth, even.

"I'm sorry. I should have known you'd already have tried that," Chloe says eventually, clipped.

"It's okay. I understand that you want to bring him back at all costs."

Chloe breathes in and out deeply. "Okay. Uh, is there a certain reason you wanted me to know this, or did you just, I don't know, want to make me feel awful for no particular - "

Max rubs at her eyes. They feel hot and dry, like she's coming down with a fever. "I want to stop more awful things from happening. I need you to do some things for me."

Chloe laughs. It does not sound happy. "So, you only called because you needed something?"

"I called because I saw you die so many times I couldn't keep count. I called because I want to fix this and _dna siht xif ot tnaw I esuaceb dellac I .tnuoc peek t’ndluoc I semit ynam os eid uoy was I esuaceb dellac I"_

 _Jesus_ , Max thinks. _Get a grip._

"I promise I will be a better friend from now on. I am writing my past self a reminder right now." She boots her old bumbling laptop. She sets up an automatic email to be sent to her account every other week. She types _Go talk to your best friend, you LAZY COWARD. Sincerely, past Max,_ and hits _send_ . She scrawls on a post it note: _Made up with Chloe. Very tired so I hope I remember._

While she's at it, she also sends an email to Chloe's account. _Your phone call with 18yo Max was not a dream, in case you're trying to convince yourself. ^_~_

"I'm also sending you an email that says that this phone call was not a dream."

"Creepy," Chloe sounds both deeply amused and way out of her depth. Max decides to just go for it.

"I need you to write this down. The famous photographer Mark Jefferson - you can google him - will start teaching at Blackwell in 2010." Max pauses for Chloe to take it down."He is a serious creep. Tell the police in, let's say January 2013, that you found a secret bunker underneath the Prescott Barn, in which Mark Jefferson and Nathan Prescott keep their evidence of girls they drugged and posed for pictures. On that note, do not get on Nathan's bad side. Or any side. Best just stay away from him entirely." Max goes through the scenario in her head. "If the police don't believe you, tell David Madsen," she adds after a pause.

"Who now?" Chloe asks, the sound of a scribbling pencil stopping.

"David Madsen. You'll know him then. He's security at Blackwell and seriously paranoid. He will probably believe you, even if he doesn't like you. On that thought - maybe get me on board first, that might help."

The scribbling resumes. "Weird to hear that somebody I don't even know yet already hates me."

"Believe me, it will not be without reason."

Chloe snorts. "I bet. I am not like, best friends with most of the campus security."

"Because you're best friends with me," Max says, stupidly.

A pause.

Then: "I am," Chloe says. "God knows why."

"Because you have a good soul... A kind and generous heart. Because you love me," Max says hopefully.

"What's with the love confessions? We didn't use to do that." Chloe sounds equal parts irritated and intrigued.

Your future self kissed me, Max doesn't say. "At some point, after you see somebody die, you kind of unlock the ability to express your feelings for them instead of bottling them up, you know," she says instead.

That shuts Chloe up.

Max clears her throat. "And don't let me be a bad friend to Kate Marsh in 2013. Seriously. Please remind me. Don't let anyone bully her. She's suicidal. Are you writing this down?"

Kate will probably not have a video to go viral in this timeline, but Max isn't taking any chances here. She needs to strengthen Kate's social security net from afar. Make sure she doesn't get to the point where she feels like it's her against the world.

"Max be good friend to Kate Marsh 2013. Suicidal. Got it."

"Then, and this is going to sound weird... I mean, weird _er_. If you notice anything strange happening in October 2013… I'm talking snowfall, unexpected eclipses, two moons type of strange. If you notice a lot of animals dying. Whales on the beach, dead birds lying around everywhere... prepare for a storm on October 11th. Get everyone involved, start a cult if necessary, just get them somewhere safe. A bunker. Or get them out of the city." She pulls a face. "Maybe use that you know what will happen next. If the snow comes, quickly tell everyone that the sequence is snowfall, animals dying, unexpected eclipse, two moons, deadly storm that'll tear Arcadia Bay to pieces. Make a plan. You're great at those, I trust you on this one."

"Snowfall, dead animals, eclipses, two moons in October 2013 - prepare for storm. Okay, I guess." 

There's that chewing sound again. Then: "Max. I love you too. In case - you know, in case it escaped you. What with me being a huge bitch about Dad's death and all."

"I know. If there's one thing I know, it's that." Max taps her finger against her temple. "But fourteen year old me might not. If she gets flighty again... Try telling her?"

Chloe blows a lungful of air into the receiver with so much force it must be on purpose. "That's asking a lot. It's one thing saying it _back_ , you know."

"Yeah, okay. Forget I asked."

"Make me, can't you?" Chloe drawls.

"I won't," Max promises. Then, as an afterthought, she adds, "Please don't investigate the barn on your own. There is a security camera. Jefferson almost killed me. Even if you're on the warpath with the police or David, try to get them to help instead."

"You know, this _being chastised before I actually do anything_ is both kind of cool and seriously annoying."

"Sucks to be such a predictable troubled young lady," Max says. 

Chloe laughs.

"Are we cool?" Max asks.

"I guess," Chloe says. "What, do you have other time traveling business to do?"

"Uh," Max says. "I kind of wanted to try and see my parents again, I haven't talked to them in forever. A lot of shit happened."

Actually, it's been less than a week. But then, what's time to a time traveler?

"Oh. Sure. Tell them I said hi."

"Will do. They'll be pleased to hear. They've been on my case about getting in touch with you."

"Is that eighteen year old Max impersonating fourteen year old Max, or..."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, stop it. It creeps me out."

"Alright. I'm sorry I'm asking so much of you, Chloe, I just want to fix things." She contemplates name-dropping Rachel, then decides Chloe and Rachel found each other on their own. They will do it again.

"I get that. This Jefferson fellow sounds dangerous."

"He is. I'll keep in touch, and if I don't, this version of me will come back in 2013 and beg your forgiveness."

"Got it." A deep breath. "Love you."

Max smiles. "Practicing?"

"Shut up."

"I love you too."

Max kisses the air next to the speaker, like an idiot. Then she hangs up, takes a deep breath, and a long look around her room.

There are still glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, and a somewhat crumpled horse poster. She switches off her lamp and lies down on her bed, watching the stars twinkle for a moment.

She's so tired she wants nothing more than to close her eyes and let it carry her away to whatever new timeline she created.

Well, there is one thing she wants more than that.

"Mum?" she calls. "Dad?"

She hears her mother's slipper-clad footsteps approach and her door open. "Max? You alright?"

She throws herself into her mother's arms as the world whites out around her. Her mum gets in a few good pats on her back before reality gives way and Max finds herself on a

-

picnic blanket. It's chequered, and kind of scratchy, which Max knows because her cheek is rubbing against it, because she is lying on it face-down.

"You okay there, Lily?" That is Chloe's voice, vaguely concerned in that way she has. Max sits up slowly, registers the sunlight filtering in through the trees, the fresh breeze. They're on the cliffs, by the lighthouse. Arcadia Bay is fine. Chloe is alive.

Max's relief is greater than her curiosity for a few seconds, and she closes her eyes and lets it sink in. She did it. She _managed._

Then she turns around to see who Chloe is talking to. She's sitting behind her on the blanket, cross-legged, wearing one of her trademark loose white shirts. Her expression is at once soft and concerned in ways Max has only seen a handful of times, and never both at the same time. She wears her hair buzz cut-short and kept it the shade of strawberry blonde she inherited from her father.

Max misses the vibrant blue like it's a physical ache, and at the same time she wants to crawl into this other Chloe's lap and run her hands through her new, short hair. She can't have either, but that's okay, she tells herself sharply, this is already more than she could have hoped for.

"Chloe," she says, reaching out for her. It comes out high and desperate, and Chloe takes her hand immediately, pale eyebrows concave with worry.

"Lily?" she says, and that is when Max realizes Chloe is talking to _her._

She opens her mouth.

She shuts it again.

How the fuck did I manage to create a timeline in which I have a different _name_ , she doesn't say. Or does she?

"Oh! Max, it's a nickname. You know, nicknames? You've heard of them?" Chloe is squeezing her hand now, transferring the movement of her bouncing leg to Max. "Is this the you I talked to on the phone four years ago?" She sounds excited – not mad, or disbelieving, or sad, or... mad...

Max finds out she is not out of tears, after all. She surrenders herself to them, and it is not pretty.

She crumples herself up into a ball as best she can. She fucked it up so many times, but it's okay now; it's okay now, Chloe is here - 

"Hey, hey, I'm here," Chloe says, and Max remembers her blue-haired Chloe in a rare sympathetic moment, with the same softness in her voice. That was up here as well, just minutes after Chloe confessed to wanting to throw a bomb on it all, turn Arcadia Bay to glass.

"Is it because I called you ‘Lily’? I'm sorry, it's just the – you know, the doe, you said it's like your patronus? Lily Potter? It's just a stupid nickname, I promise I didn't convince your parents to change your name out of pettiness while you were gone."

"It's not the nickname," Max manages to get out. She breathes in and out, slowly. She counts to four each time. She lets a few last silent sobs shake through her body. "It's not the nickname," she says again, when she thinks she can speak again without it being a whole thing. "This is a wonderful timeline. You did so much better than I could have hoped. I would have gone by ‘Lily’ without complaint for this."

Chloe hugs her, and Max presses a kiss to her mouth before she can think about it. Chloe freezes, and the shock on her face makes Max _xaM sekam ecaf reh no kcohs eht dna ,sezeerf eolhC .ti tuoba kniht nac ehs erofeb htuom reh ot ssik a sesserp xaM dna ,reh sguh eolhC_

Chloe hugs her, and Max lets herself be hugged. For the first time today, her headache makes itself known. Funny, how you never notice the absence of these things, Max thinks hazily.

"God, I could sleep for a year," she says.

"What's stopping you? It's Saturday." Chloe pats the spot next to herself invitingly.

It is indeed a Saturday, Max realizes. It never really registered, with the storm and all. Max lies down on the scratchy blanket, just barely touching Chloe's knee with a fingertip. She closes her eyes.

They pop open again.

_What happened to Jefferson?_

Accessing her memories from this timeline is like pulling files from a very well-organized shelf: it works relatively well, but it still requires focus. Max is anything but focused, so she ends up staring at the blue sky, remembering random bits and pieces:

_"I can't believe my teacher is going to be THE Mark Jefferson, Chloe! I'm so excited; he is such a genius, you know? He's a really big deal! And you just have class with him every week! What's he like?"_

_"He's creepy, Max, please just leave it. You should see the photos he is exhibiting all over the place. It's all women in weird poses. Like, naked and crying, or whatever. Kneeling and photographed from above. Rachel thinks it's weird, too."_

_"That's his style, Chloe! It's not creepy. He said in an interview once that he's all about innocence and the moment it breaks."_

_"_ How _is that not creepy?"_

Max sighs and shakes her head. Too early.

 _The first time she sees Rachel, in the first row in Chemistry, talking to Evan, she thinks,_ oh _._

_Rachel's earring catches the sunlight as she tilts her head and smiles up at him. Max knows it's not for her, but she still has trouble talking for the rest of the lesson._

_Evan doesn't look like he's faring much better._

_Huh,_ Max thinks. Too late, but also sort of – interesting. Rachel is a force of nature, it seems.

She sits up abruptly.

"The storm," she gasps. "We have to -"

"Never came," Chloe reassures her.

"But the signs – the, the snow and the dying animals and the eclipse and the two moons -"

"None of those things happened, Max. Believe me, I’ve been looking out for them."

"What if they're coming later? What if I've just pushed the storm further into the future, even in the timeline I made when I saved your dad the whales were dying, it has to be coming-"

"Lily."

"We need to be so careful, Chloe, that storm wiped out Arcadia Bay entirely, _everyone died-"_

 _"_ Max!" Chloe grips her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes. "Nobody died. The storm didn't come. Maybe you didn't make a butterfly flap its wings this time, or something. Max, I know sometimes shit just happens for no good reason, but so do good things, yeah?"

Max breathes in deeply. "Yeah," she says. She is so tired. She's not sleeping until she knows what happened with Jefferson.

"Chloe, I'm sorry I left you alone with all this for so long," she says. "I know how much it sucks, having nobody to talk about this stuff."

"It's okay," Chloe says, nudging Max with her knee. "I learned a shit ton about alternative universes and shit. And who knows if I'd have watched _Butterfly Effect_ otherwise? I wouldn't want to trade this timeline."

"You probably would have watched _Butterfly Effect_ at some point," Max points out.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have taken it this seriously."

Max laughs, and Chloe nudges her again, more forceful.

Max sobers up. "Want to tell me about how everything went down, with Jefferson? Properly? Not the censored version you gave everyone else."

"Way ahead of you," Chloe tells her. "I wrote you like, letters." She pats her bag. "There's about a hundred pages worth of love letters to eighteen-year-old Max in here. Chapter One: _Please Don't Investigate the Barn on Your Own, Chloe_. Want me to read it to you?"

Max rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, like only someone who already knows the story she's about to hear will have a happy ending could. "Jesus, Chloe, you went to the barn? I told you not to!"

A stern look from Chloe over the letters in her hand has her lie back down again, wiggling until she's somewhat comfortable, and settling in for a long story.


	2. Please Don't Investigate the Barn on Your Own, Chloe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, and thanks so much to everyone who left a comment on the first chapter! I hope you like this one, too.

_October 5th, 2009_

_Dear Max,_

_this is bullshit. I've decided it is. So you show up out of nowhere like some kind of fucked up angel, say all the right things, laugh at all the right times, give me the first sincere apology I've heard since You Know What and tell me you love me like four times in a row, and then? You tell me I can't have that again for four fucking years?_

_Fuck that. Here's a letter. Expect more. They might not make it through time but there is so much shit you just left me alone with, I think I need someone to vent to._

_I mean, you made me write a list._

_Okay, I wrote the list on my own._

_One of the bullet points is "Make a Plan"._

_Like? You needed someone to save Arcadia Bay and you went with me; the fucked up, 15yo, just-lost-a-Dad, kind of pissed at you former-maybe-again-best friend? That was your plan. Because nobody else would have believed you, probably._

_Well. We'll see about this. It is kind of nice to have someone believe in me like this again. You know, like I'm back in fourth grade and a straight A student with a bright future in the sciences ahead of me or whatever._

_Except a little more responsibility._ Make a plan, Chloe _._ You're great at those _. No pressure._

_Fuck, my room is a mess._

_I don't think any of the bullet points on my list are urgent right now, so I'll start with that. Baby steps, Max, baby steps. Superheroes start small._

_See you around, Max._

_Love you._

_(Attached list)_

  * _October 12th, 2013:_ _Max comes back_
  * _Mark Jefferson (google) Blackwell teacher 2010 (creep)_
  * _January 2013: tell police about secret bunker underneath Prescott Barn - > evidence of Nathan Prescott + MJ drugging & posing girls_
  * _stay away from both_
  * _if police don't work, try David Madsen (Blackwell Security) (hates you) (might work better if Max did it)_ _don't investigate on your own!!! security camera_
  * _Max be good friend to Kate Marsh 2013. Suicidal_
  * _sn_ _owfall - > dead animals -> eclipse -> two moons; October 2013 - prepare for storm_
  * _MAKE A PLAN?!?!?!?!?_



*

_September 2nd, 2010_

_Fucking hell, Max._

_You know who's my teacher now?_

_Yeah, you do. You knew it a year ago._

_Jefferson. "101: Visual Concepts". I never googled the guy, because, well, it didn't seem urgent; and I don't know, man, it made it easier to ignore the goddamn list I couldn't do anything about, anyway._

_So I went to the class expecting someone outwardly creepy, like, someone with a weird beard and watery eyes and a lisp who is obviously too old to call us ‘sweetie’ but still does it, anyway. And then Jefferson._

_Jefferson is Charming. Well, I assume you met him. And when I talked to the other you on the phone, you seemed to be pretty into him, so you probably know what he looks like, but I'll tell you anyway. He looks young. Scruffy. He's a little full of himself, but that's the only thing that might potentially have made me not like him._

_But that he'd start teaching at Blackwell was your first prediction that turned out to be spot-on, and the next one is that he fucking drugs and poses women for fun. Maybe worse. I have a feeling you were trying to protect me there._

_Fuck, Max, maybe a little more detail wouldn't have hurt._

_Ah well. I'm good at holding grudges, so I guess that's what I'll do._

_Love you (even though you withheld vital information from me and then expected me to fix everything, anyway)_

_Chloe_

_*_

_March 12th, 2011_

_Haha, Max, you'll never believe what happened now._

_No, I mean it this time. Even you couldn't have predicted it would turn out this way._

_Remember how I have resolved to keep a grudge against Jefferson? Well, I run out of reasons a lot, so I talked to Mum about it over breakfast._

_Maybe you don't understand how big a deal this is: I don't do breakfast. I wake up and hurry to school before I miss the first lesson. Sometimes I sleep through the first lesson._

_And when I do breakfast, it's in total silence. I hate talking in the mornings._

_On top of that: I'm not really talking to Mum at the moment, with the whole David business. You really could have told me that was how I'd know him, you know._

_Anyway, we're sitting at breakfast because I fucked up my sleep schedule so thoroughly that it turned right back around again and I woke up at 6 a.m. (weird ass feeling.) and I ask Mum, because you know, she's been a woman her whole life, maybe she knows: "Do you think it's weird that Jefferson always smiles at the girls in our class but never at the boys?" She looks at me like I've gone bonkers, so I add: "You know, it seems like he isn't taking us as seriously?"_

_Silence._

_And then Mum says, in that careful voice, you know the one – wait, no, you don't – the one she uses when she thinks she's bonding with me about Dad's death, "I'm not sure... is this your new thing? Feminism?"_

_And, ugh, I hate that voice. I hate the way she said_ feminism _, like it was completely new to her, but she'd try it out for my sake. So I'm all set to fake concern about missing first hour to get out of there asap, when she adds: "I could get you a book about it for your birthday, if you'd like?"_

_And I thought, why the hell not. Might as well find out what marks Jefferson as a freak. So I said yes._

_And yesterday morning, there was not one, but three books next to my bed, all wrapped up nicely: "Feminism 101," "Gender Trouble," and "Why Does He Do That?" I opened "Gender Trouble," and I shit you not, it might as well have been French._

_Well, I knew most of the words, but the way they were connected to form a sentence? No clue._

_So I'm starting slow. Feminism 101 it is. I even got out the markers David gave me in a not-so-subtle attempt to make me pay more attention in school. The pink one is for female coded bullshit._

_I love you_

_Chloe (the Feminist Superhero)_

*

_June 13th, 2012_

_I, uh. Made a friend._

_There's nothing about her in your predictions, so I'm not sure if she's there to stay. But then again, you didn't say more than you absolutely had to about David, either, and he for sure is in my life for good, whether I want him to or not._

_It was more or less an accident._

_I never know what you know about people, because you talked about David like you know him, so it makes sense to assume you'll come back to Blackwell at some point. Or you, you know, just know everything._

_I'm just gonna describe Rachel to you, anyway._

_She's_

_It's been ten minutes and I have no words. Let's try introducing her gradually._

_Jefferson was being a sexist ass again, and I am so done with that. Everyone else is just hanging onto his every word, literally nobody realizes how creepy he sometimes comes across, and how objectifying his photography is, but then again, neither did I a year ago, so I guess that's fair._

_This time he said something about "the softer nature of a woman," and I must have made a face, because he looks right at me and says, "Not_ all _women, of course, Chloe," like he's trying to make me laugh._

_He says my name a lot. He says everyone's names a lot. I've read that it's a tactic to endear people to you, and since then it's only ever felt cheap._

_No dice._

_I don't even look at him. I'm just like, "Of course. Some women are softer in nature, just like some men are. So, are you saying that we should depict people with a softer demeanor in softer lighting and with warmer colors?"_

_The way he goes from charming to angry in so little time always gives me goosebumps, but nobody else seems to find it odd. Maybe because they're all always angry at me._

_"I believe you know what I meant, Chloe," he snaps._

_And I'm a bitch, okay? I'm allowed. I stopped giving any shits a year ago._

_"No, I don't," I say, sweet as I can. "Enlighten me, please. What_ did _you mean?"_

_"Of course there are exceptions to every rule, Chloe. But there is a subtle difference between the sexes that a sensible artist should not ignore. I suggest you read a book sometime."_

_And isn't that just lovely, because I never would have gotten into this discussion in the first place if I hadn't Read A Book._

_At this point he's standing in front of me, his hands on my desk, leaning forward. For everyone else, it must look conversational, but, Max-- he scares me. I know what he's capable of. He rattles my fight-or-flight instinct a lot._

_I get up. I stand there for an eternity – I've heard somewhere that it should be fight-or-flight-or-freeze, actually._

_Finally, fight wins out._

_(It wins a lot, these days. I'm so angry and it has nowhere to go.)_

_"As a matter of fact, I have,_ Mr. Jefferson _. And honestly, the way you talk about women – like we're soft and innocent and unable to protect ourselves against the vicious nature of men who just can't help themselves? That's textbook sexism, right there."_

_Jefferson comes around my desk to where I'm standing, and I know I'm tall for a girl, but he's taller._

_So I get up on my chair._

_I inform him that looming over people so they feel physically smaller and weaker is a tactic abusers use, and then, through the expected collective groan, there it is._

_Rachel Amber gives me a pensive look._

_Like she's seriously considering what I just said._

_This is a big deal, because Rachel is popular and I am not anything, really. I'm kind of nowhere in the hierarchy. Apparently, that is what happens when your Dad dies. You aren't picked on anymore, but only because people avoid you like the plague._

_And Rachel is kind of the exact opposite of me._

_You know how I'm kind of angry at everyone, these days? How I'm getting into a lot of fights? How I always know how to get under people's skin?_

_Well, Rachel is that, but with niceness._

_She knows just how to behave around everyone to charm them into liking her._

_Sadly, knowing this does not stop me from being charmed. She's like a forest fire. Acknowledging it's there doesn't make it stop burning. It doesn't make you immune._

_Anyway, that was off-track – I am standing on my chair, Rachel Amber gives me a thoughtful look. Jefferson turns away like he doesn't care about my antics, but I've made him angry often enough by now. I can tell._

_"I'm not getting on a chair," he says, like that is my goal. What the fuck. "I'm not playing your games."_

_"Good," I tell him, because what the fuck. Why would I want him to climb a chair? "I don't want you to. I want you to stay down there and deal with the fact that I'm taller than you. How do you like my softer nature so far?"_

_He doesn't say anything for a moment, just standing with his back turned, and you know... standing on a chair during a lesson is a very strange thing to do. Especially when everyone is quietly willing you to get down. So I'm a split-second from caving and just sitting down again, when he says, "Of course some women won't accept their nature. Every species has its outsiders."_

_And, I mean, he just degraded women to be an entirely different species. So many comebacks. What even to choose?_

_But before I can say anything, he has turned around to Rachel, who is sitting slightly in front and to the left of me, and says: "And then there are prime examples."_

_I forgot to mention he's smiling as he's saying this. His smile hasn't betrayed him yet, it's still just as charming, all crinkled eyelids and warmth... but it is really uncomfortable, and this time I am not the only one who notices. I can tell everyone is shifting in their seats._

_I can't see Rachel's face, and I am this close to just – unleashing the kraken on Jefferson, so to speak, when she gets the fuck up and on her chair, too._

_I haven't had a sister in arms in ages._

_It's_ glorious _._

_You can actually see Jefferson's face fall._

_He tries to go back to teaching after that, but his voice just sort of drones on._

_Turns out standing on your chair during a lesson is sort of ok when you're not the only one._

_I high-fived her on the hallway after the lesson ended without really thinking about it, because you know? Nothing quite pierces middle school hierarchy like literally standing up to your sexist teacher together._

_She only hesitated a little before accepting. I'm counting that as a win._

_Expect more Rachel stories in the future, I think I'm in_

_Love,_

_Chloe_

*

_January 2nd, 2013_

_and a happy new year to you too, Max. Well, wasn't that a waste of time._

_I went to the precinct today. I don't know if you've ever been, but in case you haven't: it's tiny. It's the sort of place where every policeperson knows about every criminal and also the most notorious reporters of crime._

_And me. For whatever the fuck reason._

_I went up to the guy behind the counter, said I wanted to report a crime. He asked for my passport, and I handed it to him. He looked at it, looked at me, and grinned. Not in a good way._

_"Chloe Price, huh," he said._

_"The one and only," I said, because I get fresh with people when I'm nervous. It's what I do._

_"What's the crime you want to report? Someone being sexist again, huh? Did a teacher smile at a student?"_

_What the fuck. I have never once been to the police with any of these things, I promise._

_I had half a mind to just leave and do the goddamn thing myself, but I remembered you said to ask for help, to enlist the police and anyone I could, because Jefferson is dangerous. Because he nearly killed you._

_So I went on. It didn't seem like a good plan to start by accusing Jefferson, so I said everything else first. "I have heard from someone I trust that there is a bunker beneath the Prescott barn, that Nathan Prescott and an accomplice use to take pictures of female students they drugged and posed..."_

_I faltered, because the policeman had stopped writing when I said Nathan Prescott's name._

_"Are you sure you want your name on this?" he asked._

_"Yes," I said._

_"Because if we follow up on this and it turns out to be false, you will be in deep trouble, young lady."_

_"I know," I said. I didn't tell him not to call me ‘young lady’. It seemed unwise. "It's not false."_

_"The Prescotts are a very influential family. This is not something you would get away with easily."_

_'As easily as last time,' it sounded like, which, what the hell? As I said, I haven't been here before._

_"I know," I said again. "But it's true. Get a search warrant for the bunker, there will be plenty of evidence – pictures Nathan and Jefferson took-"_

_"Jefferson?" the policeman said, sounding incredulous. "As in, your teacher, whom you already pestered and accused of being sexist because he called women 'softer in nature'?"_

_And isn't that just lovely._

_"Who told you all this?" I asked._

_"I'm not at liberty to say," the policeman answered, at which point I was so angry I wanted to call him by his name to make sure he knew how mad I was, but he wasn't wearing a name tag._

_"You seemed to be at liberty to say plenty of other stuff," I said. "If Jefferson came in here trying to get a cease-and-desist..."_

_"It wasn't Mr. Jefferson, Miss Price," he said. I'll just call him Daniel. He looked like a Daniel._

_"Principal Wells, then. If he came here trying to get me to stop standing up to my teacher, that is one thing, but are you actually refusing to act on my tip because I have a history of – what – feminism?"_

_"Not at all," Dirk said. (I just decided to change up his name. He doesn't deserve a set name.) He pointedly continued filling out his form. "We will get a search warrant, alright. It might just take a while."_

_"My friend was hurt," I said, furious. I mean, it's true – in my timeline, at least. You called me when I was fifteen and told me he'd almost killed you. "Are you dragging your feet just because you don't like what Principal Wells had to say about me?"_

_"I don't like your_ attitude _, Miss. You're showing plenty of that on your own, no need for Mr. Wells to tell me anything. And about your friend – if you could produce her, maybe we can hurry things along. We don't like to act on hearsay." Dave put away his pen and slid the report he'd written under the window that separated us. It was all there. I had no choice but to sign – none of Dennis's arrogance had made it onto the paper. I scrawled my name beneath it and said, "I hope you're proud of yourself when you realize that it was your fault that more girls were drugged and who knows what else, because you didn't like the one who gave you the tip."_

_Domian gave me an impassive look, and I left. I only just resisted the urge to give him the finger. That probably wouldn't have worked out well for me._

_Fuck that guy._

_Fuck Wells. Fuck Jefferson._

_Fuck my need to get receipts on Jefferson's sexist bullshit._

_Fuck it. I'll wait a week, and if nothing happens then, I'll try David. God help me._

_Chloe (the vigilante, if only you let me)_

_January 28th, 2013_

_Fuck, Max._

_Remember how I wasn't supposed to go investigate the Prescott Barn on my own? Remember how you said there was a security camera? Because I do._

_But fuck, Max, what was I supposed to do?_

_You said January, and January is almost over, and I couldn't for the life of me remember whether January was an important deadline. What if Jefferson kills someone if I don't get him arrested in January?! I don't want anyone to die._

_So I get over myself and call David, like you said._

_Except I guess in your timeline I never read the fucking feminist texts and never told Mum what a sexist ass he was and never showed her my sources and they never broke up because of me, and uh._

_That one might have been on me._

_I know he's technically not one of the bad guys, as you kept insisting._

_It's just that I hate his guts._

_Well, that kind of bit me in the ass._

_So, he refused to help me. And by that I mean he picked up and yelled at me to leave him alone or he'd report me to the police, which I definitely could not use._

_And I know you said to get your help with that but I didn't see what good that would do – since you're still in Seattle, and completely unaware, and I'd have to make up a believable story as to why I needed your help convincing this guy you didn't know rather than, for example, talking to Rachel._

_Rachel, who does the kindness thing. I swear she has everyone in Arcadia Bay around her little finger._

_SO, I got Rachel on board instead._

_Easiest thing I've ever done. I just took her aside the next day during break time, and asked her: "If I told you that someone told me in confidence that Mr. Jefferson has a habit of drugging his female students, and that all his evidence was stored beneath the Prescott Barn, would you help me get him arrested?"_

_Well, that's the short version. I embellished a little. I said it was a Blackwell student who told me, which technically isn't a lie, since I'm assuming you're a Blackwell student now._

_(That it's not a lie is important because Rachel can smell lies. It's awful.)_

_I eased her in a little._

_I've been angry for so long, Max, I had almost given up on having someone being angry with me._

_Rachel is the most beautiful person I've ever met, and that doesn't change when she's angry. She looked like an avenging angel. I'm not gonna lie, that felt pretty great._

_(Having someone to share my anger with, I mean. Not making her angry.)_

_I told her about my troubles with the police and David, and we made a plan._

_Since the police already knew that the rumor of the Prescott barn being where Jefferson keeps his evidence came from me, we couldn't have Rachel just go to the police._

_And sadly, it turned out that Rachel had gotten into some sort of trouble with David, who accused her of smuggling drugs (I didn't ask), so it wasn't like she could just straight up approach him about this without endangering our whole endeavor, either._

_So our plan was this:_

_I would drive to the Prescott barn at a time when both Nathan and Jefferson would be otherwise occupied – his lesson. Rachel would attend the lesson to make sure none of them left the classroom at any point, texting me at any sign of danger. I'd go down into the bunker and take pictures of the evidence. I'd go back up and to the police and confront them with the evidence before the lesson is over, tell them that there is a security camera down there and that they have to act right now if they want to catch Jefferson and Nathan._

_Boom._

_Easy._

_Except not._

_It was cold today, just above freezing, the sky dark gray. By the time I arrived at the barn, I felt a sense of dread so strong I swear, if I hadn't thought human lives were at stake I would have turned around and gone back home._

_As it was, I parked the truck and started investigating._

_I was inappropriately dressed – I was wearing disposable gloves, so as not to contaminate the evidence, but they were doing nothing against the cold - so by the time I had wedged the door out of the way, my fingers were about frozen solid._

_The barn looked forgotten. Unused._

_How can you just_ forget _about a piece of land that you own? How can you be that stinking rich? I hate the Prescotts._

_I checked my phone. 8:05 - the lesson had just begun, and I had a text from Rachel that both Nathan and Jefferson were there._

_I had packed a wirecutter, which proved useful for the lock on the trapdoor. It used to belong to Dad. I had not packed Dad's strength, so it took me a while, but eventually the lock broke. (The ugliest sound you can imagine. Fingernails on chalk boards are nothing against this.)_

_I swung open the trap door, and – wow, Max. I had expected, like, a dark hole and a ladder or something. But there were stairs. And a fucking – bunker._

_I know you said_ bunker _. I just assumed you were freaked out and exaggerating, but no. It had a proper combination lock and everything._

_Oh, fuck. It had a combination lock._

_I checked my phone again – 8:10, and no new messages – and took it up with the goddamn lock. Thankfully, three of the numbers were worn with use, and I mean, there are only so many ways to arrange three digits. I don't remember which combination it turned out to be, but the light turned green and the heavy door clicked open after a few tries._

_I don't know why I didn't close the door behind me._

_Something about locking the only exit of this creepy place just didn't sit right with me._

_I checked the time again – 8:15 now, still plenty of time – and then I allowed myself a first look around._

_Oh my God, Max._

_If I hadn't known the purpose of this place, maybe it would have felt different. But knowing that these people came here with students who were helpless – out of it – maybe unconscious – and then reconciling that knowledge with the sight of expensive artwork on the walls? A monstrous printer? A fucking couch, like this was just a game to them? And then all that fucking equipment._

_I took a bunch of pictures, sending them to Rachel immediately (8:22), just in case._

_Only, they didn't send._

_Because this was a bunker._

_Because you don't usually have the greatest reception in a bunker._

_I didn’t know this, because like some kind of idiot, I didn’t check._

_I spent the next minutes ripping open cabinets at random, found a sound system, boxed up photography stuff - - - and then there they were. Neatly labeled binders. Female first names._

_I snapped a picture, flipped one open - -_

_I knew the girl, I see her on the school grounds sometimes. She seemed nice, if a little bit aloof. Her name was Diana, apparently. I hadn't known this until just then._

_In the picture, she wasn't even conscious. Her hands and feet were bound with thick ropes, and she was posed on her knees, her forehead touching the ground, hands on her back. Naked._

_The picture was black and white._

_\- - -_

_I took a picture._

_I shoved the photo into my pants, for some reason. I just really wanted to make sure some of the evidence would survive no matter what, I guess._

_I shelved the binder._

_I was just about to close the cabinet when I heard a shrill sound – a phone – not my phone – just outside the door, oh fuck._

How could there be nowhere to hide in a place this big?

_I scanned the room – the printer was too slim, the cabinets gave no escape route, the sound system was too small – I could hear Jefferson swear outside, and then I saw the door swing open a little more._

_I clutched the wirecutter and flattened myself to the wall around the corner from the door._

_I don't know what I thought. Maybe that if I just stabbed hard enough I could overwhelm Jefferson._

_What happened was that he came around the corner with a pistol in his hands, and I – let go of the wirecutter and grabbed the pistol because I knew: he wouldn't hesitate. He'd just kill me. I turned the muzzle as far away from me as I could get it, which wasn't very far, and -_

_Jefferson didn't even say anything, or even yell. He just saw me, and pointed the pistol at me, and shot. And. Kept. Shooting._

_I knew I wasn't going to last. I had let go of my only weapon, I needed both my hands and all my strength to keep the pistol pointed away from me, and Jefferson was so furious – the pistol was heating up in my hands -_

_It's pointless, I thought. My entire life is pointless. You gave me this list and one of the bullet points said "Don't investigate the barn on your own, Chloe" and I thought I could outsmart you. And if I can't even save this girl's life, whoever she is, then what is the point of me? I might as well die now. I lowered my arms._

_"Freeze!" I heard someone shout._

_Well, I say_ someone _. I know David's voice._

_Jefferson decidedly did not freeze. He tried to whirl around to David – I guess he wanted to take out the gun first. I threw myself on him with everything I had. I don't have a lot, but it made him stumble enough to miss David the first time._

_And then David just shot him._

_I mean, I suppose there are some things the army is good for._

_Shooting people without hesitance must be one of them._

_I stared down at Jefferson, who was clutching at his arm. David gave me a brief glance, then set to unarming him._

_"You okay?" he asked gruffly, and it took me a minute to realize he was talking to me, not to Jefferson._

_Stupid. Of course he wasn't asking Jefferson if he was okay. He'd just shot him._

_"Yeah. Thank you for, you know. Saving my life," I said just as flatly, and left._

_As soon as I stepped through the bunker door, my phone blew up with messages and missed calls from Rachel._

**Go get em, Chloe :)**

**Oh shit, Jefferson’s phone just beeped, and he stepped out. I'll see if I can stop him but if I can't you've got maybe ten minutes to hightail it out of there**

**OH SHIT CHLOE**

**I called David. He's on his way. Sorry I know you hate him**

**I went to Wells & spun him a tale about how I was worried about Jefferson just leaving the class. Wells had the classroom checked and then called Jefferson but of course he didn't pick up. I don't know why I did that I don't know why I'm writing this**

_Then, the pictures finally sent._

**THANK GOD CHLOE**

**are you okay?**

**Shit that looks so professional what the fuck**

**What happened?**

**Chloe why does that binder have my name on it**

_Oh fuck._

_I ran back into the bunker. I must have stepped over Jefferson, there was no other way to get through, but I don't remember any of it._

_The cabinet was still open. Rachel's binder was the bottom right one – the newest, I assumed. How could I not have noticed? I took it out. What if end of January was already too late? What if you didn't know Rachel, only cared about her because she provided evidence to convict Jefferson-- what had they done to her--_

_The binder contained a single picture: One of Rachel's headshots that she handed out left and right._

_It was a good one, too._

_Not that there are bad ones._

_I breathed out. I took a picture, and sent it to Rachel – well, I tried. I made my way across the room again._

_Just as I had reached the door – this time I remember stepping over Jefferson, because David yelled at me to pick a place to stay and stop running around like a headless chicken – the police reached it from the other side._

_"Freeze!" One of them yelled._

_This time, I froze._

_"Put your hands where I can see them!"_

_I did._

_"I told you, the situation is under control," David cut in, his pistol wisely out of reach and his hands already behind his head. He nodded to Jefferson. "He tried to attack her, wouldn't respond to my warning. I had to shoot him in the arm. It's nothing major."_

Nothing major _had soaked Jefferson's entire shirt by that time._

_The police rushed to clear the bunker and let the paramedics in, after that._

_We were handcuffed._

_It's not a nice feeling._

_You know, it was weird – I knew that technically, they were all on my side? David had saved my life, and the police were probably going to make sure Jefferson wouldn't kill me in the future either. But_

_I don't know, it all seemed so impersonal. None of them really gave a fuck. Like yeah, I got a blanket once they had cleared up that no, I was not in fact a would-be killer, and yes, Jefferson had actually tried to kill me._

_But that was about it. In the end, they didn't care._

_So I just sat there with my orange blanket that crackled a little with electricity, the sky still like a weight hanging above my head, thinking to myself that this was not how I imagined my heroic adventure to end. The photo I'd stuffed down my pants so unceremoniously was digging into my thigh, and I considered discreetly getting it out and somewhere more comfortable._

_That was when Rachel arrived._

_Rachel, and her parents, and someone else that I didn't recognize. Not that I recognized her parents, either. It was just one person too many to be her parents._

_She got out of the car in a tangle of limbs, practically sprinted towards me, and threw herself at me. I don't mean to say she hugged me, because I was still sitting down, and then all of a sudden I had an armful of Rachel, who cares so much it continues to almost break my heart._

_You know, I never knew exactly where I stood with Rachel, because she is such an excellent liar, but knows exactly when I am lying – kind of gives her an unfair advantage._

_In that moment, I knew exactly where I stood._

_"Thank God you're okay," she said._

_"It was just your headshot in the binder. You're okay, too," I said, stupidly._

_"I know, the picture sent. But then you didn't reply - "_

_"Well yeah, I was in handcuffs," I said, trying to get back to familiar ground. Joking is familiar._

_That's when her family plus one arrived. Rachel turned her head, then grimaced and extracted herself from my arms._

_"Uh, that's my mom, my dad, and your lawyer," she said, pointing to a brunette lady with a kind-ish smile, a tall man with a face I didn't trust, and -_

_I blinked. "My what now?"_

_A woman in a dark blue suit stepped forward and held out her hand for me. I shook it, because I was still in shock and apparently, my manners decided to make an appearance. She looked important._

_"Angelica Hayes," she introduced herself. "Your young friend thought you could use a lawyer after your..." A delicate pause. "Adventure. I was visiting James and Rose here when Rachel called, so I came with them when they rushed over to pick her up and bring her here."_

_She had great hair, I thought stupidly. It was almost a buzzcut, just barely long enough to pass for professional. And a wide mouth that looked like it was smiling even when it wasn’t._

_"Chloe Price," I said, a little belatedly, and then: "I can't afford a lawyer."_

_Mrs Amber stepped forward. "After everything you've done for Rachel, I think it'd be only fair if we covered for your lawyer. It looks like you saved her from..." She looked away. "Awful things."_

_I did, I suddenly thought. The girl that I was supposed to prevent from dying. That must have been Rachel. Max, why the hell did you never tell me?_

_I looked at Rachel for a moment, trying to get to grips with this: in an alternate timeline, Rachel was dead._

_Rachel smiled at me encouragingly, probably misinterpreting it for a plea for guidance. I had no idea what she had told her parents about me, but there couldn't have been many truths among it, if they talked to me like that._

_I decided to play along: after all, their daughter was alive because of me, and I did probably need a lawyer._

_"Thank you, Mrs. Amber," I said. "That is very kind."_

_Ms Hayes sat in on my police interrogation, after she got the short version of events out of me on the car ride there._

_"Tell them the truth, but not more than they're asking," she told me before we went in._

_When I'm all grown up, I want to be like her, getting teenagers that are in way over their heads out of trouble and looking like a pro doing it._

_The police lady that interrogated me was wearing a thin smile and her hair in a bun. She had laugh lines, but she wasn't using them much._

_"So you broke into the barn and then the bunker. You used the wirecutter we found at the crime scene."_

_"Yes," I said, when Ms Hayes inclined her head in my direction._

_"You were wearing disposable gloves."_

_I nodded. The police lady pointed at the recorder sitting on the table between us, so I sighed and said, "Yes."_

_"So you did not break in in a spur of the moment situation, to save someone. You planned for it."_

_Ah. Would that be a problem? I looked at Ms Hayes._

_"Detective Schuster," Ms Hayes started in a very polite tone. "You do realize that if my client goes to court, I will have to ask her about every detail of the story."_

_"I am not going to tell you how to do your job, Ms Hayes, but I assume that’s what you will do," Detective Schuster replied curtly._

_"I will ask her to tell me all about how she went to the police weeks before the incident and told them_ everything they needed to know _to get a search warrant for the barn. She told them exactly what kind of evidence was stored there, where it was, and who brought it there. Only when the police did_ nothing _to secure the aggressors for several weeks, and it seemed plausible that more people might be hurt, did she take action. It is no question in my eyes whose sense of justice failed in this instance." She gave Detective Schuster a meaningful look._

_Schuster gave a few false starts. She took a breath._

_"Evidence we don't know if it has been tampered with," she said finally. "Miss Price was wearing gloves. We don't know if she didn't plant it all. She was in there for God knows how long before Mr. Madsen arrived-"_

_"And then, no doubt, Mr. Jefferson barged in to kill me for – what, trying to defame him?" Ms Hayes was trying to catch my eye, but I had enough. I got up, dug the photo out of my jeans (Detective Schuster's hand flew to her holster) and slapped it on the table. "And I assume I got all these girls in on it as well, yeah? They posed like this voluntarily?"_

_Each knob of Diana's spine cast a shadow across her back, stark black against the white of her skin. I remembered the thing Jefferson had said in that first memorable first lesson I had stood up to him: to render women in softer hues to emphasize their innocence. To use warmer colors for them. He took Diana's innocence and then he took her picture in this harsh light to make it real obvious. Fuck him, I thought._

_Then I had to hide my face in my hands for a moment._

_Maybe, if I hadn't wasted so much time, I could have caught Jefferson with fewer binders on that shelf - -_

_Ms Hayes put a hand on my shoulder. Surprisingly, it felt steadying._

_"If you don't have any questions for my client that aren't accusations, we will leave now. God knows she did enough of your work today."_

_When Detective Schuster stopped the recorder, she had the good grace to look guilty._

_Ms Hayes walked me out of the room, one hand still on my shoulder. I'm pretty sure that was the only thing that kept me upright at that point._

_I looked at my phone: it was just past noon. Crazy, how so much could happen in only one quarter of a day._

_Rachel was waiting outside, and so were her parents. So was mum._

_Someone must've called her, and she had left her shift at the diner early for me -_

_I don't know why I thought that, of course she did. She's my mum. She's a pretty great mum, too._

_She took a hesitant step forward, her arms lifting just barely, and I remembered all the hugs I had refused her in the past years, and then I rushed forward into her arms._

_I felt a little embarrassed crying in front of the Ambers and Ms. Hayes, but honestly, at that point? I felt like I deserved a good cry._

_One down, I thought._

_Two to go._

_Make a plan, Chloe. You're good at those._

_I guess I am._

_Chloe_

*

When Max opens her eyes, the October sun is still shining down on them. Chloe shuffles through the letters in her bag, taking another one out and looking at it pensively.

"Does that reassure you?" She asks when she notices Max is looking at her.

"Yeah," Max replies, drowsy. All is well. She reaches up a hand to touch Chloe's hair. "So Ms Hayes inspired your haircut, huh?" She says.

Chloe ducks her head out of reach, and Max lets her hand fall back to her side and _dna edis reh ot kcab llaf dnah reh stel xaM dna ,hcaer fo tuo daeh reh skcud eolhC_

_.syas ehS "?huh ,tucriah ruoy deripsni seyaH sM oS" .riah s'eolhC hcuot ot dnah a pu sehcaer ehS_

"Lily?" Chloe says, worried. Max wipes at her nose with the back of her hand, and it comes away red. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Max replies, staring at her hand. Is she? It was just a tiny rewind, nothing like going back four years or stretching the limits of her ability until the edges of her vision go red. Why is she bleeding now?

"Did you just rewind on me," Chloe asks flatly.

Max's head snaps up. 

Chloe doesn't look _mad_ , exactly, just very _done with your shit._

"Uh," Max says. "Uh, I touched your hair and you flinched. I thought you didn't-- " This seems like a conversation to have face to face. She sits up, hands twisting in her lap. "I thought you've been through enough without me inadvertently triggering – some – memories – or..."

"Oh! Oh, Jane, don't worry about it – I don't mind having my hair touched. No trauma there."

 _So it's just me you don't want to touch your hair,_ Max thinks. 

"Jane?" She asks, trying to get away from the topic.

"Doe." Chloe points at her shirt.

Max looks down; ah, yes, she is wearing the Jane Doe shirt. Huh.

"How did I get two nicknames from _one_ thing I said," she grumbles.

"It's not that you said it _once,_ " Chloe says, grinning. "More like, every day was a doe reference with you. I mean, it fits." She looks sidelong at Max. "It used to, in any case."

Max combs a hand through her hair. "Did I change much, then?" 

She winces. It's one big tangle.

"Like day and night," Chloe says instantly. When Max looks at her, she looks a little wistful. Max realizes with a lurch that she isn’t the only one who lost a version of her best friend to the indifference of the universe today. She stops herself from apologizing, and then from asking if Chloe misses her old Max. After a few false starts, Chloe takes over, gentler than Max is used to: "Maybe not that crassly. More like... you grew up so fast. I wish I had been there for you through everything you survived. It must have been awful."

"You _were_ there," Max reminds her. _You just didn't survive it a lot_ , she doesn't say. "Your alternate self had blue hair, you know," she settles on, and Chloe's eyes light up just like Max was hoping they would.

"What!" She exclaims. "Blue? Like, baby blue? Alternate timeline me _rocks_ , baby!"

"I like it like this, too," Max concedes, and then almost rewinds. The drying blood on the back of her hand stops her. She rubs it off on her pants.

Chloe runs a hand through it, bashful. "Thanks," she says. "Ms. Hayes left quite the impression." She glances at Max. There's guilt in her eyes, and Max doesn't want her to feel any type of negative way again if she can help it at all.

"You had tattoo sleeves, too," she says with a grin that probably looks at least twenty percent fake. Thinking about her other Chloe is bittersweet. This time, the bitterness prevails. What if Max abandoned her in that car? What if that timeline never fizzled out like Max thought it would, and somewhere out there is a Chloe who loves her in ways this Chloe never will, and Max just _left her?_

"I'm going to have to come back to that, but you are looking way too sad over there," Chloe says, scooching closer. She lays a hand on Max' shoulder, carefully, like she's afraid to startle her. "About the flinching," she says slowly.

Max gives her her best _deer in the headlights_ look.

Chloe only squeezes her shoulder and ventures on. "I probably flinched because I'm not sure how you feel for me – I mean, not your alternate Chloe, that one's pretty obvious, but _me._ I just – I don't think anything in the direction of dating would be a good idea. And there's another thing that I should have – ugh..." She throws a crumpled up letter onto Max's lap. It's the same one she had eyed before. She never put it back with the others. "Read this."

Max smoothes out the paper and reads, a new kind of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

_January 29th, 2013_

_Dear Max,_

_Jesus, wow. Things just won't stop happening._

_Yesterday, after mom and I drove home in separate cars like a proper American family, we had our first long, honest talk since dad died._

_I'm so glad I have my mum, Max. I'm so glad I got her back. Or maybe that I came back. That she has my back._

_We ordered takeout and ate it on the floor because neither of us felt like uncluttering the dining table._

_It was dark by the time I went up to my room to write your letter._

_I felt jittery – like anything was possible from here on out. I had made a real impact. I could do anything. I had two people who loved me so much it almost hurt. Three, if I counted you._

_I felt like dancing, but just when I'd put away pen and paper and headed for the stereo, I heard a tapping sound._

_Now, I might be a lonely person, but I know the sound of a rock on a window pane when I hear it. I waited for the next tapping sound and opened the window._

_Rachel was standing outside._

_"Why don't you text like a normal person?" I called down. She pointed at her phone, eyebrows raised. I looked at mine. It was blinking furiously with unread messages. Huh._

_"Wait, I'll open the door for you," I told her._

_I went downstairs on tiptoes, let Rachel in and led her to my room._

_She flopped down on my bed. "You're hiding something," she said._

_I froze up._

_Did I mention Rachel is freakishly good at detecting lies?_

_"Specify," I said finally._

_Rachel grinned. It didn't look terribly amused. "I think it's sad that I need to specify for you which of the things that you're hiding from me I mean."_

_I said nothing. With Rachel, that's usually better. When she's questioning you, anyway._

_"I_ mean _the Jefferson situation. Ms Hayes didn't call you out because she's your lawyer, not a judge. But I'm judging."_

_"What do you mean?" I said._

_"This anonymous person who told you where to find the bunker."_

_"Yeah?" I said, heart pounding._

_"Why couldn't she go to the police again?"_

_I could have come up with any number of reasons on the spot. But I'm not kidding when I say that Rachel smells lies._

_So I said: "She just couldn't, okay?"_

_"If she couldn't do it because she didn't want anyone to know she was a victim of Jefferson's, why did she want you to tell the police where to find all the evidence?"_

_I shook my head, helpless._

_"Even if she only didn't want to talk to the police about it, why can't you tell us her name even now? It's out now! The names on the binders were on the photo you sent me! They will all be questioned. What's the point now?"_

_I swallowed. "I just can't tell you, Rachel, okay?" I said. "Can you let that slide? Just this once?"_

_She eyed me. "I have just a few more yes or no questions. If you can answer those without lying, I'm laying off you. Deal?"_

_"Deal," I said. No way was she gonna guess at the truth._

_"She's a Blackwell student," Rachel said._

_"Wrong tense," I said. I'm clever like that._

_"She used to be, then. Okay. Did you hide her binder?"_

_"No!" I said. "What the hell?"_

_"Did you mess with the evidence in any way?"_

_"No."_

_"And she's not you."_

_"What? No."_

_"Okay. Then I can live with it."_

_Rachel got up and walked up to where I was still standing._

_She put her arms around me in slow motion, like she wanted to make sure I could pull away anytime._

_Like I had any intention of pulling away._

_"Did I thank you yet, for saving my life?"_

_"Technically I didn't..." I started, but I didn't really believe it._

_"You don't believe that," Rachel said, smiling audibly. Her hair smelled like flowers. I might have buried my face in it a little._

_Rachel took my hand and tugged me to my bed, until we were both sitting on it._

_"Thank_ you _," I said belatedly. "For saving mine."_

_"That's not really something you just move on from, right?" Rachel said. "Saving each other's lives. That is soulmates stuff right there."_

_Rachel hadn't let go of my hand. I felt my heartbeat quadruple, and then skip._

_She leaned over, turning me to face her with her other hand on my shoulder. Her mascara was smudged, and somehow, I felt touched that this whole mess of a day hadn't left her unaffected. I lifted a hand and touched the thin skin beneath her eye._

_She drew away a little, wiping at her eye with the back of her hand. "I started crying when you did," she confessed. "You went through all that – you found this creepy place and Jefferson almost shot you, and I was just sitting on my butt the whole time with my parents holding my hands."_

_"You did plenty," I said. "When the secretary called Jefferson, it warned me that he was there. He was standing right outside. And then David showed up and saved me right on time. That was all you."_

_"Then why won't you let me kiss you?" she said._

_Who just says that?_

_It took me a while to recover from that. "I'm – it's complicated. There's someone else, but I'm waiting."_

_"How long have you been waiting?"_

_"Three years and a bit," I said._

_"How long until you don't have to wait anymore?"_

_"Nine more months."_

_She raised her eyebrows, and I relented. "Maybe. Maybe it's just nine months until I know I waited for nothing."_

_She nodded. "Here's the deal. I fill these nine months, and then you can see if you waited for nothing, and if you did, I will probably still be there."_

_"That doesn't sound fair to you," I said._

_"I mean, you could also decide whoever you're waiting for isn't worth it after all. That's up to you." She swang her leg over mine, straddling me. "Come on, let me kiss my soulmate here. Let's try this."_

_And, I mean, have you ever been straddled by a beautiful woman? It makes it very hard to say no._

_I made my decision then. I want to call Rachel my girlfriend, not you._

_This doesn't mean I don't love you._

_I just think we're probably better at being best friends than lovers. We've had a lot of time to practice that._

_Love,_

_Chloe._

Max folds the letter up into halves, quarters, eighths. She tries for sixteenths, but the paper is too thick. She hands it back to Chloe. Weirdly, she has a strong sense of deja vu.

"Thanks for telling me," she says and manages a smile. "I bet you two are a great couple."

It's such a small price to pay. 

That she went through hell just to arrive at teenager problems yet again at the end of it all seems a bit unfair anyway. But apparently, she's not getting out of this one.

"We should get you something to eat," Chloe says. She's a little red in the face, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She ducks her head under the pretense of stuffing the letter back into her bag. "How do you feel about the Two Whales?"

 _It'd be great to make sure Joyce is alive,_ Max doesn't say.

"Ravenous," she says instead. It's true. She doesn't know when this Max has last eaten, but Storm Max's priorities did not include breakfast.

Chloe helps her up, and they fold up the picnic blanket together before packing it all up into Chloe's truck.

"Where'd you guet that one, anyway?" Max asks, clapping a hand on the hood appreciatively. It's nice to have something that's exactly as it was in the other timeline.

Chloe gives her a weird look. "The junkyard," she says. "Rachel and my secret hiding place for when we were skipping class. Did I not have it in the other timeline?"

"No, you did," Max tells her. "I just didn't really get around to asking."

Chloe fixes her with a look over the roof of her truck.

"You know... at some point, I'll want to know what happened in that other timeline. Not today, you deserve some rest. But... when you're ready."

"I don't think I will ever be ready," Max confesses, and ducks into the passenger seat. Chloe gets in on the other side.

"Not good enough," she tells her.

Max focuses on the graffiti on the dashboard. It says, in bold letters, FUCK THE POLICE. Max imagines Chloe scribbling furiously after her unsuccessful trip to the precinct. She is relieved to find that none of the graffiti say _you are about to die_ like they used to. It seems like a good omen, if she needed another one (she always does).

"Hey," Chloe says. The truck rumbles to life.

"Yes," Max replies. "I'll tell you someday."

She doesn't look forward to reliving the past five days. Was it really only five? So much shit happened. Chloe died so many times. Kate -

"Someday this week," Chloe prompts.

"I don't see why not," Max says, defeated.

"Hey," Chloe says again, softer. "I know it's probably traumatic and stuff, but you gotta talk about this shit. And I'm the only one who, you know. Knows."

"It's not nice things. You died a lot. I don't want to pull you down." Max looks out of the window, the trees and rocks flashing past. Chloe is a good driver, if she sets her mind to it. The silence stretches a bit. 

"I mean, I knew I died in that timeline, but I didn't know I died _a lot_ ," Chloe says eventually. She clears her throat. "We could – you know, set you up with a therapist. Obviously you wouldn't be able to tell them everything, but some of the stuff?"

Max imagines herself lying on a couch, talking to the ceiling. _And then my best friend got hit by a train, but I rewound time and now it's all fine again. Oh, she also got hit by a stray bullet. And then by a bullet that wasn't astray. And she died in a storm a couple of times. And now she's dating this other girl that I also saved and I kind of don't know how to feel about it._

"Yeah... no."

Chloe gives her a lopsided, sympathetic smile. "Okay. I still want to hear it all, though."

"Okay." Max leans her head against the passenger window and falls asleep immediately.


	3. Don't Let Anyone Bully Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time - next will be longer again, I promise! Brief mentions of suicidal intent in this one, so take care <3

Max is woken up at 4am by nothing in particular.

 _Nothing in particular_ has her in a cold sweat and left a neon imprint on the backs of her eyelids. She wonders briefly if she can rewind into a dream, but doesn't try.

Chloe dropped her off at the dorm on Sunday evening after spending most of the weekend watching her sleep and hugging her whenever she started having nightmares. She deserves some alone-time.

It still feels awful being alone. 

Max gathers her things and heads to the shower stalls.

When she swings open the door, the mirrors are already fogged up and one of the showers is still running. Max feels better immediately. Company. She wonders who it is, right now she'd prefer even Victoria to solitude. But if whoever it is hit the showers at 4 it is probably not mutual, so Max shuffles into one of the stalls just as the other shower is shut off.

She undresses, listening to the sounds of her classmate getting her face on, presumably.

As she gets under the warm spray, it feels like the residual cold the storm left on her is finally washed off, down the drain in its own tiny vortex. She knows it's not permanent, or she would not have started feeling clammy again after her shower at the Price house, but for now, it's enough.

When she finally dries off and gets dressed, the blow drier is still going. Probably not Victoria, then. Max pushes the curtain to the side to find Kate standing in front of one of the sinks. Max realizes that it's the first time she has seen Kate with her hair down. It looks just as nice as when she wears it in her bun.

Max smiles at her through the mirror. "Hey Kate!" She says, louder than the blow drier and as cheerful as she can manage.

Kate gives her a blank look. She switches off the blow drier briefly to say, "Good morning, Max."

The smile she gives her is bland.

 _What happened with Kate?,_ Max asks her new memories, and they give her a thoroughly disappointing overview of this Max' interactions with Kate – mostly run-ins in the bathroom or situations in which Max happened upon Kate and _Chloe_ , of all people. Apparently, they are not friends here.

For a few long seconds, Max feels heavy and cold and alone. She put _effort_ into that friendship, and now it's just gone?

But when Kate shuts off the blow drier for good and starts putting up her hair, Max gives herself a mental shove.

_What's the best thing that could happen?_

She put in effort, and she can rewind time. She saved two people's lives already. In a different timeline, she saved Kate’s life as well. Making a friend can't be that difficult a task.

"Kate," she says, "do you want to come by for a cup of tea tomorrow afternoon?"

Kate lets go of the strand of hair she was holding up. "Uh, what? Sure! Is Chloe going to be there?" She picks the strand back up and twists her hair into her trademark bun. It looks effortless, but Max is sure if she tried it she would fail miserably.

"Just the two of us," Max says. "I think it's sad that we haven't hung out more so far. You seem like such a great person."

"From what Chloe says?"

"From what _you_ say and do."

Kate gives her a confused smile, but this time it feels actually genuine. "You, too," she says. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Great," Max says. "Me too!"

*

Chemistry is the first lesson on Monday, and Max finds out that she's sitting round the corner from Chloe, who is sandwiched by Kate and Rachel.

Max slides Chloe a note. _What happened with Kate?_

Chloe responds by sliding her another stack of her letters. On top, she has hastily scrawled

**Chapter Two: Don't Let Anyone Bully Her**

Max unfolds the letters, glancing at Ms Grant. She's not looking, so Max starts reading:

_September 15th, 2013_

_October is coming up, and you said to make sure you'll be nice to Kate Marsh._

_None of this makes any sense. You're not even friends with Kate Marsh. I'm not sure anyone is really friends with her. Maybe that's the problem._

_I tried to prod you about it today - "Kate seems down lately, don't you think?"_

_"Maybe," you said._

_"I'm pretty sure you two would get along," I said._

_And I mean, it's not wrong. Kate is the kind of sweet that is absolutely your thing. Sweet, uncomplicated... deeply catholic. Ugh. But her drawings are really nice, I suppose._

_You gave me a look. "It's okay, Chloe. I can find my own friends."_

_Huh._

_Okay._

_Well, I'm not going to risk that Kate kills herself just because you refused to make a goddamn friend._

_If I have to do the dirty work myself, I will._

_Make a plan, Chloe. Step one: Befriend Kate Marsh._

_(It's gonna be hilarious, I'm sure.)_

_Love, Chloe._

_September 19th, 2013_

_I tried to talk to Kate today._

_Well, okay. I complimented one of her drawings in Chemistry, where she's been sitting next to me since Nathan left. It was a drawing of a hedgehog and a bunny as unlikely friends, pretty cute. (Don't read into this. I'm not a hedgehog. I'm more of a wolf person, myself.)_

_"Thanks," she said. "I want to turn them into a children's book, one day."_

_Can she be any more of a goody two-shoes?_

_I mean, it's okay. She's sweet. I get it. And it's not like I'm averse to the idea of being friends with her. I'm just pretty sure she would want nothing to do with me, freshly outed lesbian with the buzz cut._

_Obviously, I didn't say any of that. I just gave her a smile and said, "I can't think of anyone better suited to illustrate children's books than you."_

_Which, for the record, is true._

_I've never seen someone's face transform that quickly. Within a split second, she was sporting the biggest smile. I am having a hard time believing that this girl would want to kill herself in any timeline, if it's that easy to make her happy. (Maybe the problem is that it's also very easy to make her sad? But who would want to make Kate Marsh sad? I already want to kick them in the groin.)_

_"That was the nicest thing anyone has said to me in ages."_

_God, girl, you need yourself a friend._

_And to be honest, I could also always do with more friends._

_She turned around to me suddenly and said, "You know, what you did, with Jefferson – that was really brave."_

_I froze. Technically, nobody is supposed to know that it was me who uncovered the bunker. It's part of the deal I have with the Prescotts that I keep mum about why their precious boy had to go to a psychiatric ward all of a sudden._

_"I mean, that you spoke up about him being a misogynist even when nobody else would believe it. You still fought with him, you didn't let him get away with all the awful things he wanted to teach us. That was really – thank you."_

_Huh._

_"It's - " I faltered. What do you say to something like that? "Thanks," I said lamely. "I'm glad you appreciate it in hindsight."_

_Shit, that came across a bit ruder than I intended -_

_"I get why you would be a little bitter that none of us supported you at the time... but I appreciated it then, too. It taught me that being placating at all times is not necessarily the right way to go, if a teacher is wrong about something. I'm sorry I never spoke up myself."_

_"It's okay," I said. "It's super hard to overcome the instinct to be nice and like – non-threatening. It was difficult for me too. I wouldn't have gone through with it if it weren't for Rachel."_

_Rachel, who must have heard her name, reached behind herself to intertwine our fingers without looking away from the board. I caught Kate staring at our hands when I looked up again._

_I had to ask. "And you don't have a problem with...?" I lifted our hands._

_Kate gave me a sweet smile. "God doesn't make mistakes," she said._

_And I swear to God, that sentence hit me like a freight train._

_I had no idea that this is such a big issue to me – I don't even believe in God. It's like caring a bit too much about your absentee parent's opinion. Not even that. Caring about a grandparent's opinion who died before you were born._

_Maybe I just miss being able to believe that deeply._

_"You know what," I said, "this conversation is really great and all, but Ms Grant can only politely ignore us for so long. Why don't we meet up in the Two Whales sometime? They have great coffee, and even greater pancakes."_

_"I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but I'm in if they have tea," Kate said._

_"They do now." I leaned towards Kate and whispered conspiratorially. "My mum's the waitress. I'll give her a heads-up that you like tea."_

_"Then it's a date," Kate said._

_I've got a date with Kate. How the fuck._

_Chloe (the (okay fine) hedgehog)_

_October 3rd, 2013_

_I have no idea why you'd think Kate would be suicidal, Max._

_She seems super lively to me, but I mean, I can't see her thoughts? Maybe I'm missing something._

_And she definitely seems to have a super fucked up family. In a very proper way._

_It's funny. My family, when it fell apart, was very public and very obvious and I mean, obviously I hated it. But Kate's family is at least as fucked up and nobody bats an eyelash._

_She told me a bit about them over tea today – we were talking fathers and how much we love / loved ours, and then I told her a bit about the whole David nightmare, and she brought out her auntie – like, what the entire fuck. I've never heard of someone who can be so mean without even attracting any suspicion from the people around her. Apparently she hides it behind being religious a lot, and that's what lets her get away with stuff._

_Bullshit. Religion is not about being mean. If Kate taught me anything, it's that._

_I told her that, and she gave me that smile again – you know the one – and Max, it's really nice to have a good friend who isn't connected to this whole Jefferson mess. Almost makes me think you did that on purpose._

_I just hope I don't mess it up._

_We also bonded a bit over drawing on every flat surface we encounter, only Kate calls it doodling and I call it graffiti and our styles could not be more different. We collaborated a bit on a graffoodle anyway, it turned out pretty cute._

_Love,_

_Chloe (still a hedgehog)_

Max is still engrossed in the drawing – a hedgehog, clearly drawn by Chloe, and a bunny by Kate – the hedgehog all spiky in a few rough lines of sharpie, with a witty one-liner in each panel, and the bunny in soft lead pencil, round and fluffy and sweet, when Ms. Grant clears her throat and says, pointedly: "Max, could you give us an example for an amphoteric compound?"

Max raises her head slowly. "Um," she says. "Sorry. No. I can't."

"Pay attention from now on, please," Ms Grant says, giving Max the disappointed look that is responsible for 90% of her school-related motivation. "Warren?"

"Water is the most common example, because it can behave like an acid or like a base depending on the substance it comes in contact with." Warren gives a sympathetic wince in Max's direction, and Max gives him a small smile in return, before _erofeb ,nruter ni elims llams a mih sevig xaM dna ,noitcerid s'xaM ni ecniw citehtapmys a sevig nerraW ".htiw tcatnoc ni semoc ti ecnatsbus eht no gnidneped esab a ekil ro dica na ekil evaheb nac ti esuaceb ,elpmaxe nommoc tsom eht si retaW"_

_"?nerraW" .syas tnarG sM ,"esaelp ,no won morf noitnetta yaP"_

_".t'nac I .oN .yrroS" .syas ehs ",mU" .ylwols daeh reh sesiar xaM_

_"?dnuopmoc ciretohpma na rof elpmaxe na su evig uoy dluoc ,xaM"_

"Max, could you give us an example for an amphoteric compound?"

"Uh, water," Max says without raising her head from the drawing. She wonders if she should feel guilty for using her powers for cheating.

(It doesn't feel like cheating. It feels like making people less upset. A small kindness.)

"Very good, Max, thank you," Ms Grant says, taken aback. "Could you elaborate on that?"

"Well, it can react either like an acid or like a base depending on what you throw on it, right?"

Ms Grant laughs a little at that. "I wouldn't say that's wrong, but you could phrase it a little nicer?" She turns to the blackboard to summarize the characteristics of an amphoteric substance, and Max pockets the little drawing.

When she looks up, Rachel is looking at her. Max knows immediately what Chloe must have felt on the day she stood up to Jefferson: a mix of apprehension and awe that makes her heart race and her mouth dry up.

Rachel isn't scrutinizing her, she just looks pensive, or maybe surprised.

Max has a feeling that keeping things a secret from her isn't going to be a walk in the park, even with time travelling up her sleeve.

Time travelling isn't going to help if telling Rachel all her secrets is suddenly all she wants.

When Max can finally tear away her gaze, Chloe is pointedly raising her eyebrows at her.

*

The bell hasn't even finished ringing when Chloe has already slung her bag over her shoulder and left the classroom with another pointed look at Max. Max hurries after her.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Chloe asks when Max has caught up with her by the lockers. She’s grinning.

"A force of nature," Max repeats her own thought. A forest fire, Chloe called her in her letter. "Do you have a plan on how to keep this a secret from her?"

"God, no. She'll find out anyway," Chloe says, just as Max spots Rachel sauntering toward them.

Max quickly buries herself in her locker, fishing out her math textbook. She discovers a picture of Chloe and herself on the inside of the locker door that she doesn't remember taking. They look just like they do now, Chloe's hair buzz cut short, so it must've been taken after Max returned to Arcadia Bay. They're sitting on the railing that separates sea from land at the harbor, a few minutes from the Two Whales. Max's face is uncreased, free of worry, and Chloe is giving the camera an impish smile.

"Something happened," Rachel says from behind her. Max whirls around and slams her locker shut, as if the picture were a precious secret. As if anything you pin on the inside of a locker door were ever meant to be a secret.

Rachel is shorter than she imagined. Somehow, being on eye level with her is no less disconcerting than if Rachel were peering down at her imperiously.

Technically, Max knows that Rachel's eyes are hazel. It was on every single one of the fliers Chloe pinned to the blackboards and doors and walls of Blackwell. But up close, _hazel_ suddenly seems like an under-valuation.

Rachel blinks at her. "You're different," she states.

Max looks at Chloe, who shrugs and stuffs a handful of something she must have found in her locker in her mouth. Max tries and subsequently fails not to silently judge her for it. 

"Yeah," Max says. If Chloe wasn't planning to keep it a secret, she might as well play along. She's tired of secrets anyway.

"What happened?" Rachel asks. She looks maybe twenty percent concerned. Max can't determine what the other eighty percent are.

"I time traveled into this timeline from a reality in which Arcadia Bay was wiped out by a storm," Max replies flatly.

Rachel takes another step closer. She looks - intrigued, almost fascinated. For a couple of seconds, she doesn’t say anything, looking like she’s internally considering and discarding options.

"You learned to _lie_ over the weekend, is what you did," she finally says.

"Sure," Max says, shrugging.

Chloe, impossibly, is still chewing.

Rachel scrunches up her face, and Max can feel a smile forming without her permission. It's just that Rachel's face doesn't look like it's cut out for _adorable_ , and then it is.

Rachel seems to come to a conclusion. "No, you're still terrible at lying," she says, dismissive. "A fluke. _Or --"_ She narrows her eyes at Max. "-- you really _are_ a time traveler."

It doesn’t sound like a joke.

Max gives her a breezy smile and slips past her, heading in the direction of the math classroom.

It takes her until there to realize that she doesn't usually act like this.

It takes the first half of math until she realizes it might be because she's jealous.

She sighs, deeply and wholeheartedly. _.yldetraehelohw dna ylpeed ,shgis ehS_

Is there a way to fast-track this? She wonders. There has to be something she can do to get _past_ the stupid urge to thoroughly embarrass Rachel and show Chloe how much _better_ she is.

 _What's the best thing that could happen_ , she asks herself.

For a flickering second, like a polaroid's colors blushing into existence, she imagines Rachel kissing her, with Chloe in the part of her vision that is not taken up by Rachel's face, slack-jawed and suspended in the moment before heartbreak sets in-- then it's Chloe kissing her, and Rachel is holding on to Chloe's shoulder as if to stop her-- then it's Rachel and Chloe kissing, sweet and soft and like they have been doing this for months, _which they have_. Max even feels the accompanying weight settling in her stomach. She almost wants to rewind just so she'll never have had the thought.

 _What's the best thing that could happen?_ Max asks again, with more emphasis.

It takes a while to reconcile the three pictures to a new idea: the three of them on Chloe's bed in a haphazard pile. The morning light is filtering in through the American flag that's covering Chloe's window – wait, she doesn't have that in this reality – through the red-and-black curtains that Chloe has in this timeline. Rachel is stirring, reaching for the blanket to cover herself from the chill that has settled over the room during the night. Her eyes land on Max and she gives her a slow smile, like Max is in on her secret, or maybe like Rachel is in on Max's secret.

Or maybe both.

It's hard to focus on math after that.

It's hard to focus on anything, Max is jittery with the memory – no, the vision, the imagination. Jittery with possibility.

She lists the things she knows to herself:

She knows she loves Chloe, loved her in any timeline she created - but there was always a part of her that knew that the rift between Chloe-of-the-blue-hair and Max was too big to be permanently bridged in any way that would make them both happy. This is the first time she thinks it might end in anything but tears. 

She knows Chloe loves her as much as Rachel, she just made a promise to herself.

She knows Rachel looked intrigued for a moment there, today. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but maybe Max can make it mean something.

And she knows that _she_ wants Rachel in that irrational, greedy way she sometimes wants - it pulls at her, a sudden fascination with the way she shapes her perfect smile into existence, her stance, the way she walks, her voice, and a part of Max whispers: this _might just work,_ it _might._

The next time she sees Rachel and Chloe is at lunchtime, and Rachel hasn't stopped looking at her, pondering. Max gives her a smile, and this time, it feels honest.

"You don't look like you're feeling art, today, Max," Rachel says.

 _Who even teaches art now?_ Max asks her new memories, and they provide her with a thoroughly boring memory of a lady in her sixties with a voice completely devoid of passion.

"I'm feeling art alright. It's just that _Mrs Keen_ has never felt art in her entire life," Max replies.

"What do you say we show Max the junkyard, Chloe?" Rachel asks, nudging Chloe with her foot. "There are plenty of opportunities to take pictures there."

So they never invited her before, Max thinks. She remembers putting her name underneath Chloe's and Rachel's and then rewinding it out of existence again, embarrassed. A clean slate. Maybe she can earn the right to put it there permanently, this time.

"Sure," Chloe says, slowly. She is looking between Max and Rachel like she's watching a tennis match that she doesn't quite understand. Like she's not sure who she wants to win.

Rachel jumps up from the bench they're sharing. "Well, what are we waiting for?"


	4. Then, And this Is Going to Sound Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I was mistaken about this chapter being longer :D oh well, here you go! This is the last chapter of this book, so remember to subscribe to the series if you want to see how the story plays out! :)

Max is riding shotgun because she called it before Rachel could and Rachel conceded, since shotgun is a holy thing – her words, not Max's.

Chloe is silent next to her, eyes on the road. "Penny for your thoughts," Max says under her breath.

"What is happening, Max?" Chloe asks immediately, like she was only waiting for Max to say something. " _What_ are you doing?"

"I'm playing it by ear," Max says. She feels untethered, feather-light. "Why, is it bothering you?"

"It's – God, I don't know. I feel like I have to get to know you all over again."

"Well, likewise," Max says. "I like you, so far. Big surprise."

"I like you, too," Chloe says in an undertone. It sounds like a confession. "Uh, this is it," she tacks on, louder, as if that covers it up, and swerves into the driveway.

Max looks out the window, expecting the assorted, dulled colors of the junkyard, and is met in its place with a spectrum of greens so rich it almost looks fake. The rusty sign at the entrance is overgrown with moss entirely. The cars are covered in grass and bright-colored flowers, bushes have grown over piles of electronic waste. Max is reaching for her camera before she even thinks to look at Chloe and Rachel, who are staring silently.

It's not how Max remembers the junkyard. Apparently, it isn't how Rachel or Chloe remember it either.

"We were here on _Friday,"_ Rachel says, disbelieving. She is struggling with her seatbelt, all of her attention on the scenery outside.

Max gets out of the car. The ground is springy, moss and grass. The emerald-metallic shine of a beetle at her feet captures her attention for a second, then she ventures deeper into the junkyard, vaguely in the direction of where she remembers the makeshift shack.

It's still there. A tree has grown out of it, through the window. Max snaps a picture of it, of the vines snaking up the walls, before she even lets herself wonder about it, and then she does, walking closer: it's a chestnut tree, nothing like the shaggy spruces she remembers seeing around this place, leaves bright green and juicy despite the season.

Chloe and Rachel catch up with her around her third polaroid, and just in time for her to start worrying.

"Chloe," she says out of one corner of her mouth, "what if it's a sign? Like the dead birds?"

"It's a nicer sign than dead birds for sure," Chloe says. She tries to sound dismissive, but a tinge of _overwhelmed_ clings to her voice.

"This is how it started before the storm came, too. The first sign was snow in October – it was like eighty degrees out, and it just started snowing. It wasn't obviously _bad_ , just very strange, and then the storm happened-- "

"Max. This doesn't have to mean bad things. What if it's a good omen, this time?" Chloe clasps a hand on Max's arm, and Max realizes she's shaking again. It doesn't do anything to calm her down, this time.

"You said that, too. In the other reality. That it was a gift and that I should keep on using it, and then things kept – getting – worse... Maybe I should never use them again. Maybe that's what it's trying to tell me."

"Or maybe it's telling you that you did well. That you saved everyone you could save and – that's - " Chloe hitches a breath and stumbles forward, towards Max, but her eyes are set on something further away. Max steps aside and watches her walk to one of the cars. Or, what used to be a car. It's covered in moss and white lilies, now, and a tree has grown through the tailgate, almost unnaturally straight up into the sky, save for two branches that stretch out horizontally. A perfect cross, covered in leaves.

Max turns to Rachel, who is still standing wide-eyed and taking it all in: the greens, the weird-to-insane conversation Chloe and Max just had. When she speaks, she doesn't ask any questions. She raises a hand for a vague point, and says: "That's Chloe's dad's car," and suddenly everything makes sense.

Rachel is the one to go after Chloe, and only when she's made it halfway there does Max manage to follow.

When she reaches them, Chloe has sunk to her knees, Rachel crouching next to her, their arms slung around each other.

"Why?" Chloe asks, and Max marvels at her voice, stable and only the slightest bit angry. "Why could we save everyone but not him?"

She says _we_ like they're a team.

Because they _are_ , Max realizes. Max may have made the call but Chloe made all the plans, and Rachel saved her life when Max wasn't around to do it.

"I don't know," Max confesses. "I don't know what makes everything possible but this. But whatever is doing _this_ \- " she gestures at the lilies, the trees sprouting everywhere, as if Chloe was looking at her, "- it wants us to know that it respects your father – maybe it's saying sorry for not making it possible to fix this, too."

Chloe's arms around Rachel tighten, and Max itches to give her comfort, too. She reaches out a shaky hand and places it on Chloe's shoulder. Chloe's muscles relax under her palm when she squeezes.

"God," Chloe says, shaky. "And here I thought I was over it."

Max's fingers itch for her camera again, and before she can stomp down on the desire, Chloe says: "Just take the picture already."

Max freezes. Chloe turns around to her, a smile slowly assembling on her face as if she's relearning how. "I know your tells. You haven't changed _that_ much."

Max responds by taking out her camera and crouching down to get the entirety of the tree – it's a magnolia, she thinks absently, it's going to be gorgeous in full bloom. She sets the focus on Rachel and Chloe, the car a blur in the background, and takes a picture.

She's still fanning the polaroid in the air when Chloe and Rachel extricate themselves from each other and come towards her, arm in arm. Max doesn't know why she slips the polaroid into Rachel’s back pocket, but she does. Rachel doesn’t seem to notice, lost in thought.

Chloe slips Max something, too, and Max's eyes widen when she sees the white lily.

"A lily for my Lily," Chloe says, and Max feels her face heat immediately. Rachel's good natured laughter rings in her ears as Max looks around for a place to store it. When she looks back, shrugging her bag off her shoulder, a butterfly has settled on it, wings flicking open and baring a reddish brown that gleams in the sun. _Don't disturb it_ , is Max's first thought. _Don't take a picture. Act like you're not here._ She stands stock still.

"Max?" That's Rachel. She sounds more than half concerned, now. "I didn't mean to -"

"It's fine," Max says, so quiet she's not sure Rachel can hear. The butterfly flicks its wings closed again, perches on the tip of a petal, and takes off. _It's fine_ , Max tells herself again. _And if it isn’t, I can always come back here and fix it._

Her heartbeat is still pounding in her ears. Rachel takes her arm and leads her to the shack, where sunlight filters in through the leaves. The vines also grow on the inside of the walls, and Max wonders, briefly, if they've grown over Chloe and Rachel's tags. In the darker corners, mushrooms are growing. Max sits down on the stem of the chestnut tree, tilted to an almost comfortable degree. Chloe perches next to her, and Rachel's shadowy figure stands in front of them, arms akimbo. "So," she says. "I think you guys owe me a couple of answers?"

"Ugh," Max says. She's getting tired of her particular story. Tired of _owing people_. Making things right and _right_ and _right again._

Chloe nudges her in the side, and Max says obligingly, "I can rewind time. For reals. I come from an alternate timeline in which Arcadia Bay was wiped out by a storm. I went back to when I was fourteen and called Chloe with a set of instructions to avoid all the bad things from happening, and she did all of it and now here we are." 

For several seconds, Rachel’s face is entirely unreadable - not in the sense that it is still, more that too many things are happening at once.

"Prove it," Rachel says finally, and Max can't help but _tub pleh t'nac xaM dna ,yllanif syas lehcaR ,"ti evorP"_

"Prove it," Rachel and Max say in unison, and Rachel flinches back for a split second, but then she comes closer, close enough to see her eyes in the greenish twilight, shining with intrigue and delight. "That's _amazing,"_ Rachel says, almost reverent. "Do it again." Max sighs and _dna shgis xaM ".niaga ti oD"_

 _"_ Do it again," Max and Rachel say, in unison again, and this time, Rachel _laughs._

" _Incredible._ I'm loving it. Tell me everything." She gasps. “ _You_ were the mystery person Chloe got all her Jefferson intel from! I _knew_ something was up with that!” She crowds closer still, grinning, and demands, again: “Tell me everything. I want to know what happened in your alternate universe. Connect all the dots.”

"It's not..." Max clears her throat, grateful when Chloe squeezes her hand and takes over for her. "It's not a fun story, from what I gather. I don't think either of us stays alive – well, stays alive for long stretches of time at once. I've been trying to get Max to tell me about what happened, but if she needs more time..."

Max straightens up. "No, I think I should tell you guys – from the beginning. If I don't do it now, I never will, and you will always wonder what's going on, and we'll never have a proper relationship, or friendship."

Rachel nods, and Chloe squeezes her hand tighter.

Max leans back against the bark of the tree, head cushioned by Chloe's thigh, and starts at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter of this book, so remember to subscribe to the series if you want to see how the story plays out! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I will (hopefully) upload a new chapter every Thursday! Please consider leaving a comment, it would in all probability make my entire day <3 I also have a [tumblr ](https://lifeisstrangenotcruel.tumblr.com/) if you want to come yell at me about this (or anything else, really, I'm not picky) :)


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